


And you can take all you want

by cc5



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Daryl is a little bossy, F/M, Heavy Angst, Masturbation, Mentions of Murder, Rough Sex, Smut, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, breath play, mentions of Coda, mentions of blood and heavy injury, what did I get myself into; send coffee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cc5/pseuds/cc5
Summary: And then she simply sat in his camp, warming her hands on the fire and claiming the place to be her new home. There were no words - not for a long time - as Daryl and Beth slowly got reacquainted.





	1. I think that I want it

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece/ prequel to _So put your lips on my scars and teach me to love_ which I have been working on and off this year. It will be stand-alone scenes in this particular universe: starting around 9b, when Daryl lives in a tent by himself during the time-jump. I want to arrive at the aforementioned one-shot eventually, but it won't be a linear way to tell their story. I might jump back and forth in time. Hopefully it'll still be compelling enough to entertain and keep your attention! 
> 
> Individual chapter length will vary, so I'll post the first four today! Enjoy. <3
> 
> PS: English isn't my first language, I don't have a beta- I might go back in and correct some mistakes if I notice them/ they are pointed out. All comments welcome. <3
> 
> PPS: If the first three chapter seem familiar to some of you, I did post them previously to Tumblr and Pillowfort. Chapter four is all new!

The cold was crawling up his back despite the fire warming his face. Maybe it was the wind, or the dipping temperatures of the early summer night, but he couldn’t help himself but shiver. 

Casting glances at her, not even trying to be inconspicuous, searching her eyes. If she noticed, she did her best to ignore his gaze, which didn’t help his unease. 

It had been four days since she walked into his camp, put down her bag, and seated herself opposite him across the small fire. After the first shock- and he must’ve been in shock, he was certain of it- they had fallen into a wordless routine. He meant to speak to her, but if he usually had few words, now he had none, all the while he was shouting a million questions at her in his head. 

All of her movements were deliberate and efficient. Graceful even, but there was hard tension in her shoulders, he noted. All of her was hardened, in ways he could not have imagined. Seeing her again, her face void of that warm smile that everyone had come to draw strength from, it left him with a feeling of grief once more.

It wasn’t the scars, the memory of gunpowder smell in his nose when he searched for that hole in her head beneath the familiar blonde locks that made him hold his breath. It was the way she’d take her time skinning a rabbit she’d caught, hyperfocused on the task with gleeful fascination as blood ran over her hands. She was suddenly the most terrifying person he’d ever seen.


	2. It's all I really need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I ever wrote a kiss. Hopefully it's half as awkward as it reads to me, please forgive me.   
Grammatical errors I apologize for in advance.

Her kiss was harder than he’d imagined, and most of all surprising. 

Yes, he had thought of it - not dreamed it up in a schoolgirl crush type of way - but his gaze had lingered on the pale pink skin many times. Quick glances, unbeknownst to her, and in his imagination a picture had formed, of her soft mouth gently touching his skin. The memory of a peck on the cheek, warm and unhurried. Shiny lips, sometimes, thanks to a dab of petroleum jelly to keep them moisturized. From a time when hands were still clean and a little self-care mattered and was a welcome part of life. 

Now, not much was clean anymore, least of all the fingers pulling on his shirt, pulling him down to her, chapped skin on chapped skin. A sigh from her, almost a growl, working her lips over his and it felt nothing like he’d thought it would. Heat growing low in his belly as their lips parted and tongues explored; a thrill building over how well they fit together, how natural it felt to playfully bite her lip and how good it made him feel when she pushed her hips closer in response. Hesitancy replaced by urgency, hands pulling at clothing and hair, his and hers and he didn’t want it to stop. Didn’t want to stop inhaling her scent, that campfire smell in her hair mixed with the still familiar odor of sweat and rain. Didn’t want to stop feeling her warmth, how real she suddenly was, take in her shape under the too big clothes, commit everything about her to memory all while still comparing to what once was. But with every hungry kiss, sigh, pull, and bite, he knew it didn’t matter. What _was_ didn’t change what _is_ and when his hand grazed over the scar on the back of her head he almost wanted to cry. Grief, relief, confusion, an all encompassing ache in his heart that had built over so many years. She was here, _now_, and she wanted to be there with him when clearly she was independent and strong-willed enough to choose to do whatever she pleased, and right now she wanted him. He didn’t know why. There was still so much to unpack, so many unanswered questions, but this felt right. Despite it all, the years apart, the unknown inbetween, he knew her, and she knew him. In a world where nothing was really sure and safe, he knew this: they trusted each other inherently and explicitly. 

When she broke the kiss, he realized that both of them had tears on their faces, but she didn’t look upset. If anything, it felt cathartic to him, and she seemed to mirror that feeling when their eyes met at last. Eye-contact, purposefully and without evasion. His hand still wrapped around the curls by her neck, he pulled her close, resting his forehead to hers. When their breathing returned to normal, he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, the undead be damned. Her hair felt so soft, her breathing tickled his neck just right. She was so alive right here in front of him, and he was starved to touch her. Had not realized how much he’d hungered for it since she’d walked into his camp, but now that she’d given him permission, he couldn’t imagine letting go. 

She didn’t seem ready either, one hand holding firmly onto his vest. It took him a moment to understand that he felt _contentment_, an almost forgotten feeling, and he hoped she felt at least a fraction of it as well. 

No words. His lips still tingled from her kisses and he wanted more. This, too, was an unfamiliar feeling for him: the want, the _wanting more_, and when her thumb brushed over his bottom lip he wondered once more who she was even though he knew the answer so very well.


	3. You say that you want it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw/tw for Coda, descriptions of gore (not too much, I don't think) and (semi?) character death.

They had never talked about it, but he knew it was there. The exit wound just inches from his fingertips. It was tempting to let his touch wander and finally look at the source of all this pain. 

Of all the gunfire, blood, and gore over the years, the sound of her body hitting the dirty laminate flooring and her blood splattering across his face was what still haunting him in his dreams. 

How her fall had echoed in the deafening silence of everyone’s shock. 

How hot her blood had felt on his lips, acidic and burning. 

Back then he had thought, for a cruel second as Maggie crumbled in front of him crying, what a mercy it was that her face was still pretty. So people could bear to look at her as they said their goodbyes, and kissed her cheeks.  
No one had felt her breath or her warmth, and so maybe her sleeping on his lap now, after all this time, was nothing but a cruel god’s trick.

He had never carried anything so heavy in his life. The steps down the hospital staircase seemed never-ending, everything was as heavy as lead and he had to pause a few times to catch his breath. With Carol’s hand on his shoulder, he had carried on, and it had to be him: he had found her, and lost her all the same. 

Now her weight was on him again- oh, how light she was. Warm, too: and of course he could feel her breathe and see the movement of her ribcage and having missed that before, it brought up a memory of deep pain. 

His hand moved up to her scalp. He just had to see, the curiosity was too strong. As nimble fingers gently parted her hair, he could feel her stir. He paused, fearing to be caught, fearing to have overstepped.

“It’s OK, if you wanna look,” she said softly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, really. Think it looks a little ugly.” She shrugged, tone light.  
So, she wasn’t mad. 

“You sure?” He should’ve asked before, and he knew that, but everything with them felt weirdly fragile still, and it wasn’t an easy thing to bring up. 

“It’s no big deal. It’s just…one little part of everything.” She reached up to gently guide his hand to the right spot. “There. Feels mostly numb, actually.” 

She trusted him with it. _Trusted_ him. It helped that they didn’t have to look each other in the eye, but he could tell she wasn’t tense. Wasn’t retreating or removing herself from the situation altogether, and he wondered how long she’d actually been awake. 

But it was OK, and it was time. So he took a deep breath to look at the very spot that he had last seen as a pulsing wound. Hidden underneath thick blonde hair, a puckered scar. Far less prominent than he would’ve imagined, not too hard to the touch and of a light pink color. Deceivingly unremarkable for a wound of that magnitude. 

Seconds ticked by with him just tracing along scar, Dog snoring, and Beth breathing evenly. 

“S’not ugly,” he said at last. Whispered, really, and it felt like such a stupid thing to say. He scolded himself before adding, “Y’know, ‘s kinda cute.” This time he literally bit his tongue.

An unexpected chuckle from Beth. “Cute? Oh, Daryl, now that’s mighty _cute_ of you to say.” 

His ears turned red and hot but he was ready to blame the fire on that. _Cute_. He knew it was better to just shut up, so he did, and started to gently massage Beth’ scalp. Simply listening to her breathe evenly as she fell asleep again. Dog at their side. A peaceful, starry night. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have nightmares about this shooting anymore. Beth was real, and alive, and the wound had long healed. Maybe it was time to let go of the agony of that memory. Of the guilt. Because she wasn’t mad, or hurting, but alive, and at peace. And maybe he could be, too, with time, at least he tried to have a little faith again.


	4. Just tell it straight to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm delighted with the themes of this one: fear, _miscommunication_, anger.

He was angry, all consuming red hot fury with every sharp inhale and exhale of breath, heart pounding so hard in his chest it almost hurt. It _did_ hurt, all over- his muscles from exertion and tension of holding his bow, and his head from the sight in front of him: Dog lying on his side, bloodied and panting. Beth kneeling with her back towards him, shoulders slouched with exhaustion as she was fighting to catch her breath. And less than ten feet away, a dead bobcat, head at an unnatural angle and wet with blood.  
A rock, discarded and glistening red, between the three of them. He released his bolt into the animal’s skull for good measure, along with a sigh of short-lived relief. 

Still, he didn’t dare to move, and the scene burned itself painfully into his being.

Daryl had been away from camp, checking snares, pleased with the fat rabbit he’d found tangled and stiff. The meat would taste delicious with those fresh blueberries Beth had collected in the early morning. And while the two of them still didn’t talk, they shared- meals, shifts, tasks. It worked in this weird way that he didn’t dare to interrupt. They had carved out a coexistence that currently served them well. As long as they had a stomach full of food and a fire to keep them warm, it was all they needed. 

Then, the barks, first powerful and strong, the way Dog rarely did, being perceptive enough to know what happens when he made too much noise. Suddenly, loud and threatening and Daryl had started to run, bounty discarded, as the angry barks turned into squeals of pain and Daryl’s adrenaline pumped his blood so hard he could hardly hear anything at all. 

Their peaceful camp now in utter disarray, and all Daryl could think was, _not again_. 

Once he was confident that his legs wouldn’t buckle, he carefully approached Beth from the side, seeking eye contact. Mercifully, she lifted her head slightly. “I’m all right. Go check on dog, then we should move.”

She was covered in blood, crimson and ruby all over, her hands, arms, hair, _god, her face_\- but just as he froze again, when the metallic smell of warm blood hit his nostrils, she stumbled to her feet and started to gather their belongings with practiced efficiency.

She could talk, stand, walk. _Later._ Later he could deal with the panic in his belly, obsess over the what-ifs. 

First, dog. Panting, awake, and tail wagging weakly as Daryl approached him.  
“Hmm, boy. What did’ya get yerself into this time?” Acting calm for the animal’s sake, as tears threatened to form in his eyes. 

It looked worse than it was- superficial scratches, no bites, which Daryl was thankful for. He wasn’t sure why the bobcat had attacked in broad daylight, but rabies was something he wouldn’t wish on Dog. 

Mindful of the pups injuries, he picked him up and, following a small nod from Beth, made his way behind her on the short trek toward a stream they frequently used. It was frustrating to leave their camp behind for now, but on the off chance of walkers being attracted by the barking, it would be better they’d find only the dead bobcat to chew on. 

*-*-*

Together, they cleaned up Dog, Beth even put some stitches in the tired animal. With an injured shoulder, Dog would limp for a while but already started to perk back up, especially after being served rabbit, which Daryl had gone back for. Reluctantly, but it was the smarter move, they all needed the calories and energy, and it gave him the chance to check on the camp, too. Just three walkers munching on the dead bobcat, and he disposed of them quickly.  
He was thankful to have his hands and mind busy, but once they sat down across the fire, he took in her sight: fingers glistening with rabbit fat and the blood still bright pink in her blonde hair; he couldn’t hold off the thoughts and emotions any longer. 

This close call, this freaky coincidence, had almost cost him dearly. And while relief was supposed to settle in by now, anxiety and anger took its place. 

Because he remembered. Every second of the last time he thought her dead. Forever ago but just like yesterday- the sight of her head drenched in hot blood and the feeling of it dripping off his arm as he carried her down those stairs and out into the sun. He hadn’t washed it off for days, after leaving her, unburied. Had no keepsake of her, nothing, not a lock of hair or one of those bracelets, her cross. Nothing but her dried blood itching on his skin until Carol made him go wash up a little. For Maggie’s sake. And gave him the knife Beth had worn on her waist. It burned a hole into his pack daily, even now, that goddamn knife that she should have gotten back the moment she walked into his camp, but he couldn’t as much as look at it, after all this time. 

Anger, because he had failed to protect her, again. Anger, because she was sitting there without a care in the world, like this was normal and in a way he knew it was but that made him angrier still. He didn’t recognize this Beth, all practicality and composure. When had it all stopped to matter? Why was he so rattled, and she wasn’t at all? His hands shaking, a betrayal of his body for her in plain view, and yet she chewed on that thigh bone, unhurried and nonplussed. 

“Could’ve died today,” he blurted out in an angry whisper, earning a lifted ear and open eye from Dog. 

Beth paused, putting down her meal, brow furrowed. Almost looked at him confused, but held his gaze, yet didn’t reply, then picked up her meal again. 

Daryl’s frustration grew. For a while he had contemplated, worried, that Beth may have lost her voice. Had lost her songs and music. Her voice had faded in his memory over the years, leaving an empty space. Every other song since Grady had hurt all over again, music had never been the same.  
Today when she spoke, it didn’t register at first, with worrying about Dog and her and leaving their camp behind, but if she could speak, why didn’t they talk? She had sounded strong, a little hoarse, more serious. Deeper, factual.

“Got nothin’ to say to me, girl?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Waited a beat, two, three, but she just held his gaze. “Goddamnit, talk to me!” 

Her face was unreadable when she finally spoke. “Whaddaya want me to say? We could die every day, that ain’t new.” A one-shouldered shrug, breaking eye-contact to look into the fire.

“Yer full of blood! Stupid thing coulda bit ya, coulda.. Killed ya. Before we ever-”

“Before what? Sat down ‘n had a nice, cozy chat? There’s nothin’ worth talkin’ about. Nothin’ worth worryin’ about.” 

“Was a time I could never shut you up.” 

“Well, people change.”

“Can see that.”

“What is it you want from me, Daryl? Best be _very_ clear, ‘cause I’m not playing games with you.” 

Where she appeared calm and in control, he had long lost his composure, nails digging into the palms of his angry fists and the muscles in his body tense with strong, overwhelming anger. The sudden disconnect between them was upsetting to him, too many emotions and none of them rational and he knew that, but her stoicism fueled his deep spiral of anxiety, anger mixing with helplessness.  
But he couldn’t control his rage, couldn’t sort through this barrage of emotions; hadn’t felt like this in a long time, and he had to think of Merle and his tantrums that always ended in broken bottles and damaged door frames. 

_Breathe_, he needed to breathe, he needed space to calm down before he fucked things up even more, but when he looked at Beth she just looked at him expectantly, eyes hard and steely blue, and he hated that look. Hated that she looked _at him_ like that and he knew it was his fault. 

Distance would help, he needed to calm down because he’d just picked a fight over nothing and he needed to get away. When he searched around his backpack to grab his water bottle, his hand brushed over the hilt of the knife he had once gifted to Beth. Before he consciously made the decision, his hand had already grabbed it out of the pack and in quick strides he rounded the fire to toss it at Beth’ feet.  
Any smartass remark died on his tongue as for the first time since their reunion Beth’ composure crumbled: At his aggressive approach she gasped loudly and scrambled backwards and away from him, arm raised in defence and when he caught her eye over her shaking wrist, pure fear. 

Both of them, frozen. The crackling of fire and a confused whine from Dog was all he could hear over the rapid beating of his panicked heart.  
He watched her chest rise and fall rapidly, her stance unwavering. 

His mouth was dry and his voice breaking when he finally spoke. “Beth, I-“

“No. Don’t.” Little girl voice. Cutting through him like a sharp knife. 

Eventually, he stepped away carefully, settling in for the night not too far away and still in view of the small camp. Despite the forgiving temperatures and being wrapped in a warm poncho, shivers ran over him as self-hate threatened to consume him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I KNOW! If this felt uncomfortable and confusing, it was supposed to be like this. We are talking about Season 9B Daryl who has not really found his zen yet - at all - living in a camp away from the communities after Rick’s death. There is so much going on emotionally, one of is Beth being back and they aren’t processing it, not yet, there is so much grief, and grief to unlearn, and fear, and that represents as irrational, S1, picking-a-fight-instead-of-dealing-with-emotions, anger-and-rage Daryl. It hurt to write and maybe it hurts to read. 
> 
> It will get better going forward. But it’s a long, long road.


	5. You put a fever inside me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is straight up _smut_.
> 
> Now, important to note that this chapter is NOT following directly after the last one. There is quite some time between 4 and 5.  
Next week I will go through and place an indicator on top of the chapters so you know where in the timeline each scene is set. I am not going through this universe in a linear way and I am jumping around in time.
> 
> I have updated the tags, if there's anything you'd like to me to add, let me know, thank you, and enjoy!
> 
> Oh, and a big thank you to Shannon, Kirsty, Brenda, Courtney, and Susan for supporting me through my insecurities. <3

Today is not remarkable in any way, except it is. 

She can think about that later, _after. _

The built-up to this moment has been slow, but steady. From not talking to fighting, to hungry kisses that constantly leave her aching for more, more than she ever expected to feel or yearn for. Little touches, innocent and careful, slowly turn into teasing until she can see that he is just as wound up as her.

Finally, they snapped, rushing to undress and feel the other as close as possible. Warm hands exploring, with an urgency on the edge of desperation. There was no hesitation on her part, and from the way he divested her of her panties it sure as hell seemed they were both more than ready to give into lust. 

* * *

It doesn’t make any sense. _This. _Them.

His teeth are scraping over her throat as he buries himself inside her, over and over, a hard rhythm seeking to feel more, faster, deeper. He wants to give her that, and she arches to meet his movements. 

He’s heavy on top of her, elbows caging her in by the shoulders, a delicious restraint. She finds purchase in his hair and yanks, feels him tense at the sudden pain and growl into her neck. She hooks her knee higher over his hip, changing the angle slightly, with his pelvis meeting her clit just right. Her moans are unexpected to her own ears, the build-up so quick and intense she fears to fall over the edge all too soon. 

She thinks of the marks he’s leaving on her body and shivers. Of the marks she is leaving on his.

She’s starting to tremble, and he slows his pace with a grunt, much to her irritation, and sits back up on his knees. 

“So close,” she pants, desperate for friction. 

He smirks, catching his own breath. “I know.” 

Beth growls, reaching up for his open shirt to pull him back down, to fuck her again, but he catches her wrist with ease. “Nuh uh.” 

Suddenly he’s in charge, and she hates it and loves it because she’s never quite seen him like this, but it’s remarkably natural. Hair hides most of his face like so often but she can see a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. She glares at him, and when he doesn’t let go of her wrist she knows just what to do to make him flinch. Tightening her walls around him, she enjoys his sharp intake of breath, and wiggles her hips for good measure. 

“Now,” she hisses, and gasps in surprise when he pulls out in one swift motion. All words of complaint die on her tongue when he smacks her pussy playfully and his smart fingers find her clit to pinch slightly. 

“Hands ‘n knees. _Now. _” Serious, but almost mocking as he throws that word back at her. 

She has hardly time to recover, clit throbbing, as she hurries to turn around for him. His hands smack her ass, find her hips and pull her back to his legs. She can feel his cock bounce against her slit and she moans deeply. Ass in the air, presenting herself as ready. He seems to enjoy her reaction, slides up and down her wetness and she feels her thighs tremble in anticipation. When he fills her, she bites on her forearm to keep herself from crying out loud. 

She lets him set the pace, meets him with every thrust, revels in how good he feels, how good he fits- it should be clumsy and awkward and a little strange, two bodies together for the first time in such an intimate way. But what makes it work is their joined history, the complete trust she has in him after all these years, in spite of the distance and time spent apart.

This feels right, it’s simple. It’s not _complicated _, and he fills her over and over and she focuses on just feeling good for a change. 

The sounds they make is almost obscene, from the slap of their bodies meeting to the wetness being pushed between them in abundance. It feels thrilling to leave control at the door. Opening herself up, pushing back to invite him deeper shamelessly. Her hands scramble for purchase on the blanket they threw down in a rush. It smells like smoke: from campfires and cigarettes and so uniquely him. 

From the snap of his hips against her ass she can tell he’s getting close to climax.

When she clenches around him again he growls, he stops his thrusting and pulls her up roughly by her shoulders, one hand finding her throat as the other twists a nipple in a movement so swift it sends another throb all the way to her clit. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, breathes into her ear hotly and gauges her reaction to his touch. So he _is _serious about being in control, and she can’t fight him when her orgasm starts to build again. Doesn’t want to fight him. She sighs, moans, and he gently applies pressure to either side of her neck, pushing down just enough to make her legs quiver. 

“You OK?” He asks, and she nods, a little too eagerly, because he hums in amusement, and leaves her breast to trail slowly down to her pussy. More shivers as he takes his time, so she grasps his arm to ground herself. Feels the muscles and tendons tense where he holds her by the throat, powerful. She’s wound up so tight that when his fingers find her clit at last she lets out a shuddering breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. 

Firm, sure circles, like he’s done it a thousand times before, but it’s just that he’s actually paying attention. To her breathing and her trembling, and when he starts to move slowly inside her again she almost sobs. 

“Imma get you there,” he whispers, and his voice, so confident, adds more goosebumps. “Gotta let go, girl.”

He’s right, she’s still fighting him for control, however weakly now. And as he speeds up his deep thrusts, the skilled fingers on her clit, he applies more pressure to her neck, causing a sensation she never imagined before tonight- she comes so hard she thinks she may pass out. He lets go of her neck and holds her up gently as she clenches so quick and hard he groans loudly when his own orgasm hits, with barely enough time to pull out and spill himself over her ass and the back of her legs. 

  
  


* * *

She wakes at first light, legs tangled with his, sharing warmth. They have done that many times before, for convenience and necessity of survival. 

It feels different now, and not just for the fact that they are both half naked and the room still smells of sex. Her skin is sticky but she _likes_that, in a way that is foreign and new, and she suspects that a whole bunch of things will fall into the categories of _foreign _and _new _in the days and weeks to come. 

The future, thinking of it as a tangible, desirable thing, that is new, too. 

He’s awake of course, and she appreciates that he indulges her. That he hasn’t run away like he did the first time they kissed. His arm is around her middle, caging her in very differently from last night. The hand that held her by the neck last night lies warm against her ribs, deceivingly gentle. 

They’ll have to talk about that, too. 

Because while there was passion, there was also an edge, and she’s unexpectedly curious about that.

But now, she decides to soak in the moment just a few minutes longer, and closes her eyes again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt at writing sex, so, yea, I hope it didn't suck? Concrit always welcome. Cheers!
> 
> Frame of mind: even though there is a lot that those two need to work through, they are avoiding opening themselves up emotionally. This is the culmination of this... emotional constipation, so I didn't want to write it all cutesy. There was supposed to be something urgent about this, that didn't quite leave room for body issues or at least... hang-ups that can come with sharing your naked body with someone else. That's for another time. That's definitely for another time. (Note that Daryl still had his shirt on.)
> 
> And while I think that Daryl is not the type who had a whole lot of sex in his life, I think he's very intuitive, which makes him more skillful than many men. Also, writing him a little dominant was definitely unexpected.
> 
> Beth, this is so many years past her time in canon, I haven't decided what she did or who she was with in-between, but I didn't want her to be shy, or virginal.
> 
> Anyway, you didn't come here for my ramblings.  
x


	6. Smoke as black as charcoal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're talking. And sometimes the memories are far from pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time indicator: Originally I said this is before the last chapter, but now I am not actually so sure. (I will make up an actual timeline, promise) .
> 
> Title from Halsey's 'Empty Gold' (Room 93 was damn good, fight me.) 
> 
> I'm adding addtl tags due to the language and (implied) threats. Please take a look at them before proceeding. (Mentions of threats of rape, only shortly.)

Every now and then, they talk. Not just the usual day to day, or talking to Dog, but actually making the effort to share things from their pasts. Daryl started this little campfire ritual, and it felt foreign and out of character at first until Beth realized how hard he was trying. Not just for her, to get her to talk, but for himself, and it sparked a curiosity within her to understand this current version of Daryl. Made her want to show him respect by reciprocating as far as she could. To her, it was not necessary to dredge up buried memories, working through it didn’t change the outcome and often just brought pain. 

But, she extended enough courtesy to keep the conversation flowing, to allow them to learn who the other one is today. Also, there ain’t no jukebox in the damn woods. 

She has agonized over what she wants to share tonight, but starts in the most casual tone she can muster. 

“D’you ever regret the things you did?” 

“To protect someone? To stay alive?” 

Daryl takes a sip of the spiked tea they are carefully sharing- sitting outside an old cabin that’s missing a good chunk of the roof, but has four walls with a heavy door can be locked at night. Walkers are securely tied to four corners of the camp, so they can afford the luxury of getting rosy-cheeked when talking about things long gone and done. Another temporary home, but better than a tent. For rain, their tarp will do. 

She ponders his questions, petting Dog absentmindedly. The fire is making her cheeks burn hot, or maybe it’s the tea. It might be nervousness, if she’s honest. 

“Both, I guess. Perhaps doin’ somethin’ when you didn’t quite have to…” She trails off, resting her chin on the forearm, her knees pulled up tight. Keeping herself warm, or making herself smaller, she doesn’t know. Won’t help to talk about it, won’t make a difference either. Except admitting to be a killer to him, that could change things, quite likely  _ will _ , but she wonders how the words might feel on her tongue, released from inside where they fester and burn every second of her borrowed life. 

“On the road, we met some guys. Traders, movin’ between communities. Sweet-talkers, but we were hungry and they shared. Were real nice, not pushy, and offered to take us along, to good people.” She scoffs, the too familiar anger and shame building up in her belly. 

“I was  _ stupid _ , buyin’ all that. Shoulda known better, after everything.”

She can see Daryl shift and tense, his hands balling into fists. His mouth is tight, too, but he says nothing, instead gives her room to continue. Part of her wishes he would interject, but it’s her story to tell and so she must.

“Overheard one of ‘em on a walkie talkie. Didn’t sound like  _ good _ people they were intendin’ to take us to.” She shrugs, sighs. She’s tired of going through this in her head every day, and now it sounds so trivial when put into actual words. 

“Well, they’re dead, so hopefully we saved some people the misfortune of meeting ‘em.” She lifts her mug in a silent cheers, and takes a deep sip. 

“Think ya skipped over the important part of the story there, girl.” He’s always patient with her, much more patient than she knew him to be, and it helps. Hates it a little, too.

She huffs, another grimace of a smile pulling at her mouth. “Well, y’know how it goes.”

“How’d it go with  _ them, _ ” He presses, still calm.

Little shrug. “We confronted them, we fought. I killed them.” Her words are slow and deliberate, she adds another one-shouldered shrug before turning her head away, tears pricking at her eyes and she doesn’t want him to see that. It’s childish and weak to cry over it now- what’s done is done.    
Maybe, she should’ve bargained. Maybe, she could’ve reasoned with them. But  _ maybes  _ won’t undo all the bloodshed and she doesn’t believe she did anything wrong.

“They killed my friend. He died there in the mud, so I killed ‘em.” It’s a justification, and a reason. It’s motive. 

And she can still see the blood, smell it,  _ feel it _ , like it invaded her brain with all the other cruelties over the years, setting up home in the periphery, just to remind her that all life ends in blood now, in excruciating pain.

“I guess they just tried to make a livin’. And I killed them because I didn’t wanna be sold.” She hopes she sounds calm, wills the memories away. She remembers it as clear as day, their mocking and their threats, when they told her what a good  _ fuckdoll _ she’d make, that they’d break her in for the buyers first- 

“They hurt you?” It’s more of a whisper, with a strong edge. He holds himself together, just like she does. 

“I hurt them more.” Chin jutting upward, tears long wiped away by her sleeves, defiance in her voice. When she was done with these men, she was bathed in blood and gore and it felt grotesquely warm on her skin. There was no recognizing them - they looked barely human - and she sat between their mutilated bodies all night. 

It’s important for her that he knows- what exactly? That they didn’t break her, that she doesn’t regret it, that she’s dangerous? 

Daryl hangs his head, and she isn’t sure what to make of it. She doesn’t want his pity, if that’s what he gears himself up to. There was a reason she didn’t want to tell him, and it wasn’t for shame of what she is now. There is a kindness in the way he looks at her, like she’s still  _ good _ and that’s just not the case anymore. But the illusion is nice. The way he’s still being a gentleman, giving her first dibs, making sure she’s warm, all without being too obvious and overbearing, and it makes her feel welcome. Makes her feel cherished. Like she is worth protecting. This will end now when he realizes it’s people like her he needs to protect others from. 

But maybe she needs to be clearer so he understands who he is sharing his camp with. 

“I’ve killed many people since. They all deserved it, Daryl. And I’ll always kill them long before they get the chance to kill me.” She pauses, exhales in relief. Even though it’s hard to say it out loud, to him of all people, it’s also freeing. 

“Y’know, it was unimaginable back then, but Shane wasn’t wrong about everything in the end.” She huffs. “Never thought I’d ever say that about him. And he was still a piece of shit.” 

She hasn’t thought of Shane in a long time, and once considered him to be the most dangerous man she ever met. Ready to kill a boy who just potentially posed a danger, he had understood the new world long before the others were ready to. 

Daryl lifts his head to meet her eyes, and maybe she was expecting disappointment or disdain, but instead he looks at her like she’s something  _ new _ . His eyes wander over her face, over her scars, and down to her hands, folded and hanging loosely over her knees. When he looks her in the eye again, he nods. 

“Y’ain’t the only one who learnt that lesson, Greene.” He sounds almost proud, just with a hint of sadness and she tilts her head at him curiously. Maybe he understands that this was the cost of her survival. 

“We’re the same now, aren’t we?” It’s an unexpected realization: Daryl might not be so different from her. 

Then he smiles at her, that almost scowl, and she laughs. It’s a short, genuine laugh and not too loud, but her lungs fill with air and for the first time in a long time, she can finally breathe. 

This is enough, for now. She leaves it at that as they finish their nightcap while Dog snores. 

Later, she will tell him that sometimes, she enjoys to kill. That it’s not just a necessity. That she likes watching them die on her terms, their lives extinguished instead of hers, and how it makes her feel  _ elated _ . And hopefully that makes her very different from him after all. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading <3


	7. Oh, I think I gotta let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just him and her, and all the pleasure he can give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this right after the last chapter, which was a little heavy, so I thought I sprinkle in some porn? Truthfully, that's all this is, and I hope you'll enjoy it. 😊 Let me know!

She tries to be patient for him, she really does. Undressed for him as instructed, when he came inside after checking the perimeter for the night. As he takes off his boots, her clothes are thrown hurriedly across the warm room. The fireplace shines a low orange light that casts many shadows and mostly hides his eyes, but she can see his tongue wet his lips as he watches. 

“Slowly.”   
It’s a command, and she obeys, lowers the straps of her bra gently before opening the closure in the back and letting it lazily fall away. Her nipples harden under his gaze and she shivers, closing her eyes for a moment. Sometimes, the way he looks at her is almost too much, how much he wants her and enjoys what he sees, every part of it. 

Her fingers hook into her underpants and she tries to step out of them just as unhurriedly. He hasn’t even touched her, hasn’t even come close, but she already feels the dampness between her thighs. 

She stands up for him, straight, and waits. Just how he prefers her to. Tries to keep her hands still, when all she wants is to touch herself, touch _ him _, and he smirks. He knows, can tell in the way her fingers twitch and her toes curl, and he steps closer, casually, putting his hands in his pockets. 

He likes doing this, too. Rounding her, like an inspection. Appraising her like a piece of art, and she feels her arousal rise as he comes close enough for his breath to tickle her skin. He hums lowly and goosebumps cover her fully. 

Her heart beats loud in her chest, in sweet anticipation. He always likes to take his time - making her wait, watching her hungrily and drinking in her reactions to his touch, or lack thereof. 

She sighs impatiently, reaches back to pull him to her, and he catches her wrists with ease. Pulls them up behind her back to restrain her until the tension burns in her arms. Of course he would, and she practically growls until he bites her neck, a quick nip, and the sharp little pain makes her gasp in surprise. It stills her except for the involuntary tremble of her legs. 

A little giggle at last escapes her throat, because she still got what she wanted: He’s pressed flush against her, one hand still encircling her wrists but the other is on her collarbone, holding her in place. 

He pushes his hips forward and she can feel his erection pressing against her ass.   
“This what you want, girl?” 

She nods eagerly, and he lets his hand travel down to her breast, his touch featherlight again, only allowing his index finger to graze her nipple. 

“Y’ain’t gonna get my cock tonight,” he whispers in her ear. “I wanna play with your little cunt until ya beg me to let you come.” 

Her shock turns into a whimper when he pinches her nipple and twists ever so slightly. Her instinct is to pull her arms back down but he holds them tight. “Ya gonna be a good girl for me, keep those hands where I tell ya to?” 

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” 

_________________

  
  


Her hands find purchase in the sheets, trying to keep herself from reaching into his hair and pushing herself desperately against his tongue and fingers. Choked moans fill the room- he told her not to be loud, but she can’t help but gasp while he works her clit skillfully over and over. When she keens needily, so close to completion, she can feel him shift and change the angle of his fingers slightly, letting go of her clit with a teasing suck. His thumb replaces his mouth and he props himself up to watch her whimper and writhe. The sight of him, lips red and swollen much like her pussy must be, skin glistening in her juices, it’s arousing her more than she thought possible. He licks his lips with a satisfied hum, watching her reaction to his every movement patiently. She has lost count how many times he pushed her so close to the edge, made her cry out in frustration, only to pull her back again.

“Want me to stop?” His free hand finds her nipple and tweaks it just so, sending fresh jolts of electricity through her body. 

She shakes her head no, breathlessly, and he flashes her an almost smile with a hint of arrogance.  
  
“Gotta speak up, girl.”

Her throat is dry from breathing through her endless gasps, and suddenly she’s not sure if she still has a voice to answer him with. When she lets out an impatient whine, he chuckles lowly. 

“Please,” she manages to choke out, “please, let me come.”

He hums, tilting his head slightly in consideration. Her body is trembling, muscles tight and skin oversensitive, and she feels emotionally raw. Giving up all her control to him is incredibly freeing. He enjoys pushing her to new limits, just as she enjoys giving herself entirely to him. 

“Please, _ sir _,” she amends quickly before he can punish her for the insubordination. 

“Ah, good girl.” The praise fills her with sudden excitement and pride, as she yearns to please him. She can feel and hear the wetness of her cunt as his fingers push rhythmically in and out of her. He has comfortably stretched her to accept three of his fingers, and he finds her g spot to manipulate in his favour. When he lets go of her nipple, she draws in a sharp breath at the loss of the pressure that smarted in just the right way. 

Positioning himself back between her shaking legs, he blows gently on her swollen pussy. She shivers and sighs, head falling on her pillow once more: he might finally give her what she so desperately seeks, and the anticipation feels incredibly sweet. 

His mouth finds her clit with practised ease, sucking and licking with a mix of speed and pressure, complimenting his fingers. The sounds they make are beautifully pornographic, the squelching of his fingers in her cunt, the slurping of his mouth against her clit, the unabashed moans she can hardly contain as it all builds toward this wonderful peak- she climbs higher and higher until she all but screams out at the suddenness of her orgasm pulsing uncontrollably through her body.

It feels like falling, the bed surely must be shaking as he laps at her throbbing pussy, slowing his ministrations gradually. One finger after the other leaves her exhausted body, gently running up and down her labia. He lifts his face to watch her catch her breath, but she can hardly keep her eyes open to appreciate the sight of her come dripping from his chin. 

The trembling of her body slowly subsides just as sleepiness overcomes her, the exhaustion catching up at last. 

_________________

  
  


He returns with water, cold and refreshing for her to drink. Not realizing how parched she was, she drinks greedily. When he starts to wash her, warm water he heated up just for her, she hums in gratitude at his kindness. Where she feels weakened from the hours long teasing, he spoils her with soft gentle touches, allowing her to come back to herself slowly. 

He whispers to her, little praises of what a good girl she is, how good she feels, how pretty she is. Compliments the softness of her skin, her hair; peppers her body with little kisses, tells her how good she smells and how sweet her cunt tastes. 

It feels like floating between consciousness and sleep. The feeling of utter trust and peace, nothing she is remotely used to, sends tears pricking at her eyes. Savouring his every touch, trusting his intention entirely, stands in stark contrast to many past experiences. Never has a man washed her body with such utmost care, let alone bothered enough to make her climax so hard she saw stars, at the expense of his own satisfaction. 

If he notices her mild upset, he doesn’t let on, instead finishes cleaning her and covering her in warm blankets. When he settles in next to her for the night, he gently folds an arm around her middle, grounding her further without caging her in. She marvels at how he always seems to know exactly what she needs, even though in all fairness, it did take them some time to become so in tune. Sleep comes, along with a new day, and she rests peacefully in his embrace.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Beth being very assertive and bossy at day, but at night she gives herself to him, no questions asked. This is her balance. But of course she's also a little defiant. Moving forward, I want to explore more of the set-up I had in mind: that they had sex long before they knew they were in love. Hope you'll stick with me! 💕


	8. the spaces in between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected discovery, or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts forever. enjoy!  
in the timeline, set before all the other chapters. 
> 
> cw: sexual content
> 
> thanks for sticking with me. I wish my brain would let me actually write more for this universe and not just come up with ideas in my daydreams.

All her chores are done- water boiled, food cooked and eaten, fire almost extinguished. A gentle breeze is playing with the leaves in the woods surrounding her. It is by all means a quiet and idyllic day, and yet, there is the continuous unease and anticipation. Things never stay simple for too long, that’s just how it is. That’s what keeps her on her toes.

She likes the higher elevation of this area as it keeps the more decomposed walkers away, though she doesn’t encounter many to begin with. The dense forest was and is greatly uninhabited, suiting her just fine. That solitude became a preference is still amusing to her.    
She picks at a seam coming undone on her pants and sighs in mild annoyance. It’s something she should fix, or find a replacement for eventually. This camp and living situation is clearly not sustainable, which is among the reasons she was out scouting to begin with: to find a better place to set up long term. 

With a headache biting at her temples, she takes a few generous sips of water to alleviate the dehydration. It’s been a long day, and the sun is still above the horizon. It’s safer to cook when it’s still light out, she’s less visible than at night when the orange glow gives away her position in the darkness, even with a fire hole. She kicks some dirt into the smouldering embers for good measure and runs her fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp. 

There is tension in her middle, a nagging throb she hasn’t felt in so long- it’s been two days since she’s seen him. 

It was by mere chance and luck that she spotted the creek, spotted him, washing up in water warmed up by the sunshine, a dog snoring in his camp and both unaware of her presence. She held her breath, hands trembling on the binoculars as she made sure it was just him. Frozen in place and heart thumping loudly in her chest. 

He still looked so strong Shoulders as wide as she remembered, the familiar tattoos and scars confirming it was him as his face remained hidden by his hair and stubble.

Not that she had any doubt. She’d recognize him anywhere.

Thinking back to it her cheeks burn hot with guilt about watching him, about being unable to avert her eyes. Looking at him in this private, unguarded moment, enjoying the way his body moved in the water and glistened in the sun. Knowing she shouldn’t just stand there and watch him like a creep.

So mesmerized that her mouth fell agape when his hand reached into his pants to wash there, too. 

She left then, to go back to her camp, to process that she’d found  _ him _ and what this meant. Could mean that she was no longer alone. She could choose to see him, reintroduce herself. Did she want that? How would he react?

But she doesn’t want to think about it now. Instead, she closes her eyes and remembers the outlines of his body, the droplets of water running down his arms and chest, the memory of the sight igniting a heat in her core. 

She never looked at him like  _ that _ . Of course she’d always admired his strength and appreciated its benefits. But there was never a hunger like this, she’d never looked at his body beyond admiring what he was physically capable of. 

Suddenly, she wants to run her fingers along all the divots and grooves, along his scars. Especially the new ones, and wants him to do the same to her. 

It’s fucked up, fantasizing like this when she should just go and see him instead of trying to resist the urge to touch herself.

She huffs in annoyance, shaking her head. With a quick glance around she scans the periphery and unsheathes her knife before leaning back against the wide tree, ignoring the scratching of the rough bark against her shoulders.

The knife weighs heavier in her non-dominant hand but her grip remains firm. Her fingers twitch as she reaches for her belt, undoing it as well as the top button of her jeans. She hesitates, frowning and running a hand through her hair. Taking a deep breath, trying to figure out why she’s so tempted to palm herself when that’s usually the last thing she cares about. She shifts and her jeans rub her just so.  _ Screw it.  _

Maybe it’s all the emotions, the rekindling of hope blossoming in her chest that she needs to push aside for a bit, distract herself and control what she feels- this will do. It’s basic human instinct and even though it’s been a while, she remembers how it can feel, how  _ good _ and freeing and frankly, she needs to be a little mindless right now. Not entirely though, as she turns the knife in her hand, promising herself to be quick and quiet. 

With her free hand she reaches for the zipper, ignoring her tingling nipples and going straight for her pussy. Jerking slightly when the seam of her pants pushes against the bundle of nerves, surprised at how sensitive she already is. 

Without wasting time, she slides into her panties and parts her lips and hair to push down on her clit, biting down a moan at the contact. She can feel the heat in her cheeks as well as her cunt and wonders what an onlooker would see and think of her: She lets her knees fall apart to spread herself open, heels digging hard into the dirt as she scoots her butt a little forward for a nicer angle. Her jeans are loose enough for her to stretch her fingers before feeling along her lips, amazed to be met by a sticky wetness coating her sex. When her middle finger finds her clit again, she opts to slightly push and rub in a slow circle, allowing the neglected nerves the time to adjust to the sudden attention. 

She doesn’t want to think about it, tries to remember the last time a man touched her down there, toying with her body until she came all over his hand. But she has to screw her eyes shut when hot tears ruin her vision. No, not him, she can’t think of that. It’s too close to grief and she pinches herself in punishment, growling in frustration. 

Resuming her movements, her thoughts drift back to Daryl standing in the creek, his hands washing down his chest, lower and lower before he slides a hand into his pants. Now, she wants to imagine how he grips his dick firmly, giving it a slight tuck. Maybe he is half hard already, just like she is getting her slick all over the panties before hardly getting started.

As she wonders how he would feel in her hand, her mouth, her pussy, her legs give a slight tremble. It doesn’t matter that she has no idea what his cock is like, because she can imagine Daryl’s face. His mouth slack and open when she licks along his length, paying extra attention to the tiny slit at the head. How would he taste, she wonders at once, shivering at the thought of his pre cum on her tongue. 

Her pussy clenches around nothing, yearning to be filled. She gives herself what her body wants and is met by a gush of wetness when she slides her middle finger inside herself. She’s pleased that her cunt is so ready but finds herself immediately frustrated- it’s not enough, not even when she grinds her palm in hard circles against her clit. Her ring finger follows its neighbor into her core with a squelching sound and she moans again, biting her lip immediately and trying to listen to her surroundings- she’s still alone, of course she is, but what if he could see her now? Fingers in her cunt, chasing the orgasm she desperately needs.

She loves the softness and warmth around her digits, tightens her muscles and imagines how that must feel for a partner, how it would feel for  _ him. _ Her palm finds the right rhythm and the build up is forming, all she has to do is keep the pressure and motion. She curls and uncurls her fingers experimentally, scissors them apart. Her hand creates an obscene wet smack, fabric rubbing noisily and her belt clanking in rhythm- she pants in slight frustration, using her left hand to pull at the belt buckle to stop the sound. Close, closer to an orgasm than she’s been in a long time, still trying to suppress the tiny moans when her nerves sent electricity through her body. 

Would he just watch? Or come over here, pull her down onto her back, divest her of her pants and soaked panties before settling between her legs to dive his tongue into her cunt?

She shivers, glances around carefully once more before closing her eyes to give fully into the fantasy: his calloused hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wide open before licking in broad strokes all over her dripping pussy. Her legs start to shake at the thought, how he would glance up to see her reaction, especially when he finally sucks on the most sensitive part. 

She pulls her fingers out of herself, the sudden loss makes her walls twitch. But her nerves are quickly assuaged by the strong firm circles focusing on her clit, and she sighs when she realizes how close she is. 

His stubble would tickle, she’s sure- just tease in the right way as his tongue works over the most sensitive parts. Her body is so sore, muscles tense and tight from the work she does out here, and now hurting from the tension of her arousal- she wants to come so bad, wants to finish and then try to forget the fact that in order to do that, she imagines Daryl’s teeth on her pussy and his nails digging deliciously into her thighs. 

In her fantasy, she reaches for him, runs her fingers along his scalp in encouragement. He’s lapping her up, not interrupting his ministrations and when her legs start to shake, he holds them in place and keeps his pace. 

With her own movements so frantic, she can’t help but let out another moan, almost a low growl of frustration at the delay of her orgasm. Yes, she wants to come- but also not: More pictures are drawing up in her mind of him actually fucking her, not here on the forest floor but in a bed, propped up on his strong arms as he kisses her sloppily, all tongue and teeth. She pulls at his hair as he nips at her neck, leaving his mark. She’d let him and mark him, too, leave scratches along his shoulders and biceps. 

Yearning to be held again, to feel another human touch and cherish her- this is what ultimately sends her over the edge, cunt pulsing rhythmically around her own come. Her muscles spasm and she can hear her blood pulsing in her ears, it’s a relief to let go and fall into the aftershocks as she lazily flicks at her clit. She’s catching her breath and glances around slowly- no one is there, no walker or human, just the breeze. 

She is tempted to tease herself again, but opts against it when sadness falls over her, the truth of her need for distraction sneaking to the surface. Idly, she observes her fingers, sticky and shiny with her juices, and wipes them dismissively on her jeans. The moment’s passed, and loneliness overcomes her. She’s touch-starved, longing for human touch and interaction alike,  _ company _ . Instead, she’s hiding a day’s march away in a basic makeshift camp with her hands in her pussy to distract herself from the joy she should feel of having found one of the few people she actually still gives a shit about. 

Her pussy still throbs and tingles when she gets up to pack her up belongings. Tomorrow, at first light, she’ll go to him. There is no way she can miss this opportunity, miss her chance at reconnecting. No matter what she tells herself, she’s not made to be a lone wolf. Might as well take a chance on him, it’s better than rotting away by herself. 

When sleep finds her, so do the dreams. He’s in them, keeping watch and making her feel safe like he did so many years ago. 

When she wakes, she smiles. 

  
  



End file.
